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The rehearsal was over, and I wished Agar good-bye, and on my way home read the piece. I was so delighted with it that I drove straight back to the theatre to give it to Duquesnel at once. I met him coming downstairs. "Do come back again, please!" I exclaimed. "Good heavens, my dear girl, what is the matter?" he asked. "You look as though you have won a big lottery prize."
But take my advice, and if he obstinately refuses to increase your salary, do not leave; we shall find some way.... And besides Anyhow, I cannot say any more." I returned the following day according to arrangement. I found Duquesnel and Chilly in the managerial office. Chilly began at once somewhat roughly: "And so you want to leave, Duquesnel tells me. Where are you going?
Chilly happened to be passing along the corridor, just as Duquesnel was talking to me and encouraging me. Chilly pointed to me and remarked: "Une flute pour les gens du monde, il n'y a meme pas de mie."
Our poor friend is not to be buried till the day after tomorrow, they will let me know where and when we ought to be there, I shall tell you by telegram. I have seen the directors twice. I yielded my turn to Aisse. I was not to come till March. I went back there this evening, Chilly IS UNWILLING, and Duquesnel, better informed than this morning, regards the step as useless and harmful.
On arriving under the Odeon arcade I was stopped by Paul Meurice, who was just going to invite Duquesnel and Chilly, on behalf of Victor Hugo, to a supper to celebrate the one hundredth performance of Ruy Blas. "I have just come from your house," he said. "I have left you a few lines from Victor Hugo." "Good, good; that's all right," I replied, getting into my carriage.
The second storey was almost entirely destroyed, and for many months the whole building had to be propped up. I did not possess the 40,000 francs claimed. Duquesnel offered to give a benefit performance for me, which would, he said, free me from all difficulties. De Chilly was very willing to agree to anything that would be of service to me.
He was silent for a moment, and then, opening a drawer, he took out a letter. "Here is something which will perhaps save us," he said. It was a letter from Duquesnel, who had just been appointed manager of the Odeon Theatre in conjunction with Chilly. "They ask me for some young artistes to make up the Odeon company. Well, we must attend to this."
The young man drew up his chair and we chatted away together, our three heads almost touching. It was decided that after reading the piece I should show it to Duquesnel, who alone was capable of judging poetry, and that we should then get permission from both managers to play it at a benefit that was to take place after our next production.
And, for nothing in the world, do I want to step on the body of that child. That puts me quite a distance off and does not annoy me NOR INJURE ME AT ALL. What style! Luckily I am not writing for Buloz. I saw your friend last evening in the foyer at the Odeon. I shook hands with him. He had a happy look. And then I talked with Duquesnel about the fairy play. He wants very much to know it.
I was very sorry to leave it, for every one liked each other there, and every one was gay. The theatre is a little like the continuation of school. The young artistes came there, and Duquesnel was an intelligent manager, and very polite and young himself. During rehearsal we often went off, several of us together, to play ball in the Luxembourg, during the acts in which we were not "on."
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